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maayacolabackup#
Jiyong worries.
When Seungri’s solo album drops, Jiyong badgers Seungri, his manager, and their staff with countless questions and demands. “Please take care of Seungri’s mental state. Please make sure he eats,” he says, and Seungri’s manager rolls his eyes and sighs, because he knows all these things.
Jiyong says them anyway. “Make sure he doesn’t catch a cold. He like tea, make him drink tea.” Jiyong hates that he’s not there to do it, because it’s his job, and he feels better when he knows everything is exactly right. “It’s better if he’s always warm,” Jiyong tells them, and he feels this combination of helpless and proud, because Seungri’s never done a show without them and as much as Jiyong wishes he was there to watch over him, he knows Seungri can do it.
“My manager says you’re driving him insane,” Seungri says thickly, later, when he comes home to the dorms and sees Jiyong waiting for him on the couch. “Thank you.”
“I want to take care of you,” Jiyong says. “Because you’re my favorite.”
“I know,” Seungri says.
In the end, it’s Jiyong who gets sick, working himself into a flu and a fever that leaves him shaking and delirious.
“There’s no way I can let you perform,” the PD says, and Jiyong shivers and quakes and protests, even as his own manager presses a cold-pack to his forehead and guides him to a chair. “You need to go to the hospital.”
It’s only the fact that Seungri looks like he’s about to cry that gets Jiyong to agree to go to the clinic.
Seungri visits him at the clinic, eyes wet and shivering because it’s cold, and Jiyong fusses. “Maknae, take care of yourself,” he snaps, and Seungri looks at him incredulously.
“Who’s in the hospital bed?” Seungri says, and he sits on the edge of it, finding Jiyong’s hand and wrapping his own hand around it.
“Your hands are cold,” Jiyong frets, and Seungri laughs, and moves closer to Jiyong, who pulls away. “I’ll make you sick.”
“Take care of yourself,” Seungri chides, and he links their fingers together.
“I feel better if I can watch out for you,” Jiyong whispers, and Seungri chuckles.
“Okay,” he says. “You can watch me on TV tomorrow, then, and tell me what you think.”
“Okay,” Jiyong says. “I’ll text you everything you did wrong.”
“Are you sure I’m your favorite?” Seungri teases. “You’re a bully.”
Jiyong’s vision is dimming, and it’s hot and cold then hot again, but Seungri’s smile is an anchor. “Of course you’re my favorite,” Jiyong says. “I love you.”
Jiyong can feel Seungri squeeze his hand. “I know,” Seungri says. “I love you too.”
Jiyong sometimes wonders what parts of it all were figments of his imagination, because Seungri never mentions it, but Jiyong holds that memory close to his heart, and when he’s alone, he pulls it out, letting it bloom as his heart beats steadily to the beat of his self-denial.
#
Youngbae talks to Jiyong about Seungri only once, when they’re both nineteen and Jiyong’s started dating girls in secret. It’s after the party, and Jiyong knows his behavior’s been erratic. He’s almost surprised it takes them so long to call him on it.
But that’s not what Youngbae wants to talk about.
“The thing with Seungri,” he says. “Is it like the thing with girls?”
Youngbae phrases it casually, but Jiyong can hear the hesitance and curiosity in his voice. Youngbae is sheltered, and sort of straight-laced. Jiyong is warming him up to the idea of eyeliner but it’s an uphill battle.
Jiyong is starting to think that their differences will only become starker as Jiyong discovers, more and more, that he’s not quite like anyone else, in any aspect of his life.
“What do you mean?” Jiyong asks, and he pulls on the string of his hoodie, causing the fabric of the hood to bunch up on one side awkwardly in a way that decidedly isn’t cool. Youngbae frowns.
“You know,” Youngbae says, and then he shifts uncomfortably, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. “Like, I dunno. Like, is it like… that?”
Like that, Jiyong thinks, and he gnaws on his lower lip, looking down at his bitten down fingernails and considering what to say. Youngbae is staring at him, like he’s trying to read the truth in Jiyong’s wrinkled forehead and hunched shoulders.
“It can’t be,” Jiyong says, and that’s true enough. Youngbae exhales.
“Okay,” he says, but then he pauses, and he looks like he’s not sure what he wants to say next. “But you know that…”
“Know…?” Jiyong says, and Youngbae reaches up and fingers the massive silver cross hanging from his neck, running his thumb along the ripples that form the texture of the pendant.
“If it’s Jiyong, it’s okay,” Youngbae says. “No matter what, Jiyong is Jiyong. Seungri is Seungri. You know?”
“I…” Jiyong starts, and he feels a little sick. “Okay,” he says, in a tiny voice, and Youngbae awkwardly pats his shoulder.
“I just… You worry so much,” Youngbae says. “About everyone but you. I didn’t want you to worry about this. If you were.”
“Thanks,” Jiyong whispers, and thinks he needs to become better at hiding, if Youngbae can see. Youngbae, who is somberly supportive, even as Jiyong defies everything he’s been raised to believe.
But Youngbae never mentions it again, and Jiyong tucks the conversation away, just like he does with everything else he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on.
#
Seungri is always overly excited on airplanes. Jiyong’s not quite sure what there is to get excited about, since a plane trip to Japan, into Narita airport, only takes a couple of hours, and Seungri isn’t a huge fan of airplane peanuts.
But his enthusiasm, this time, is contagious, and Jiyong doesn’t have Seunghyun’s steadying presence judging him from the seat behind him, and so there’s nothing to keep him and Seungri from giggling and flirting outrageously with the stewardess, who seems amused every time she walks by and they make a pass at her.
When they land, she seems a little sad to see them go, and even their managers are laughing, as they scan the people around them to check for anyone suspicious.
“It’s kind of fun,” Seungri says, as their managers collect their bags while they wait in the car, making sure the Japanese paparazzi get as few pictures as possible of them because Jiyong’s not wearing any make-up. “Just the two of us.”
“A Nyongtori vacation,” Jiyong agrees, and Seungri snorts.
“A Nyongtori vacation with lots of work,” he says. “We’ve got such a full schedule next week I might die.”
“At least we’ll be doing it together?” Jiyong offers, and Seungri brightens.
“Yes,” Seungri says. “And we’ll do it all in those terrible suits.”
“Those suits are amazing,” Jiyong says, raising an eyebrow. “Your plebian fashion sense-“
“Yeah, I know,” Seungri says. “All my clothes are boring.” He runs his hands along the denim of his jeans, his ‘G-Dragon jeans’, and smiles. “Well, not all of them.”
“It’s okay, maknae. Not everyone can be sartorially inclined.”
“And yet I get all the dates,” Seungri says, and Jiyong pushes his sunglasses up to look at Seungri incredulously.
“Just because I’m not always talking about my dates,” Jiyong says. “Doesn’t mean I’m not having them.”
Seungri frowns. “You’re keeping secrets from me?” he teases, and he’s laughing, but his lips are pulling downward at the edges, and Seungri’s never been known for his subterfuge.
“Not really,” Jiyong says placatingly. “You’d know if they were important.” Jiyong slips his hands into the pockets of his jacket and spreads his legs a little, letting his head rest against the back of the seat.
“They’re all important,” Seungri says, and scoots closer to Jiyong, so that their knees rest against each other.
“Don’t be jealous, maknae,” Jiyong says as his manager gets into the car, Seungri’s manager double checking that everything is in the trunk. “You know you’re my number one.”
“But that’s just for fun,” Seungri says, and Jiyong closes his eyes. “I want you to tell me, okay, if there’s ever someone you love.”
“Okay, maknae,” Jiyong says, and Seungri, now, is quiet. “I’ll make sure to tell you.”
“You’d better,” Seungri says, and Jiyong pretends he’s falling asleep.
“It’s cute, how you guys are so close,” Seungri’s manager says, after a while. Jiyong doesn’t move, just shifts a bit so his head is resting against the glass. It’ll be another thirty minutes before they get to their flat, which is big enough for five but will only be hosting two, this time around.
“It’s just a game, for hyung,” Seungri says. “It’s because it’s easy to play around with me.”
“Jiyong cares a lot for you,” Jiyong’s manager says. “He’s constantly worried.”
“He’s leader,” Seungri says. “It’s his job.” Seungri sighs. “I know he cares about me, I just don’t know how much of his behavior is real and how much is for show.”
“Does anyone?” Jiyong’s manager asks. “About anything?”
“Maybe not,” Seungri admits. “Mysterious G-Dragon.” Jiyong can feel Seungri’s hand fall to his knee, warm and familiar. “Sometimes I wish I did, though.”
“Take a look inside Kwon Jiyong’s mind?”
“Yeah,” Seungri says, and Jiyong wants to laugh, because with Seungri, he’s the most honest he feels comfortable being. Seungri, Jiyong thinks, might be the only person who has seen all the worst parts of Jiyong; the parts he’d never show to anyone else who wasn’t in BIGBANG, maybe not even to anyone who wasn’t Seungri himself, because Seungri makes Jiyong want to show him everything. “But what I really want is to look into his heart.”
If Seungri were to look inside Jiyong’s heart, he’d probably just find himself there, anyway. Jiyong can’t help but think that might finally be enough to scare Seungri away.
#
“You’re weird,” Youngbae says, and Jiyong puffs out his cheeks, crossing his legs and leaning forward over them.
“What do you mean?” Jiyong asks lightly. “I’m not weird.”
“You’ve been acting weird since that manager’s birthday party,” Seunghyun says. “I keep thinking you’re going to tell me you’re having a crisis about getting old, or a crisis about eating too much cake, or a crisis about how goddamn sexy Se7en’s girlfriend is-“
“These are all your crises, TOP-hyung,” Daesung says. “Don’t project.”
“I’m not having a crisis,” Jiyong says, and he’s mostly not lying, unless you count the fact that yesterday he curled up in the shower for two hours and just shivered, thinking about the way he had liked the way that dancer’s cock had felt along his tongue, and thinking about the way that Seungri was all grown up and Jiyong hadn’t noticed until he suddenly had, and he’d noticed in all the wrong ways.
“Yes you are,” Seunghyun says. “And maybe you should be having a crisis about not eating enough cake.” He scratches at his head. “You look dead. Maybe your blood sugar is low.”
Seungri peeks into the room. “Good morning!” He says brightly, and the stiffness melts out of Jiyong as Seungri walks in and squeezes onto the loveseat with Jiyong and Youngbae. Jiyong shifts to accommodate him, and Youngbae just huffs and gets up.
“That’s a fight I won’t win,” Youngbae says, when Jiyong looks at him curiously. “I might as well not waste my energy.” He tugs on a cornrow, and squints. Jiyong shrugs and flops one of his legs over Seungri’s, ignoring the way the brush of Seungri’s hand across his thigh in mild protest makes his stomach roll with anxiousness and pleasure all mixed together.
“Maknae always wins,” Jiyong says, pecking Seungri on the cheek. “That’s why his name is Seungri, after all.”
“I was wrong,” Seunghyun groans. “Plenty of sugar in you, after all.” He flexes his long legs. “Stop molesting the kid.”
Seungri blushes and wriggles and compromises, turning so his legs are tangled with Jiyong’s below the knee.
It would be easier, Jiyong thinks, on both of them, if Jiyong could pull away. If Jiyong could stop touching, and drawing closer. Maybe he should make himself let go, wean himself off of Seungri’s hesitant smiles and gentle touches. Off of the way Seungri’s hair smells like lavender and feels like silk between his fingers.
“I like being hyung’s favorite,” Seungri says.
“Our poor maknae has Stockholm syndrome,” Youngbae says, and Seunghyun laughs and Daesung just watches, in that calm and steady way he has that reveals nothing of what he’s thinking.
Maybe he should, Jiyong thinks, but then Seungri sparkles, and Jiyong thinks that maybe he doesn’t know how to.
#
Their first promotion in Japan is a morning talk show called ‘Waratte Iitomo,” where the host, a middle aged man with a killer sense of comedic timing, shakes hands with them before the show and welcomes them back, chatting happily with Seungri until he disappears to start his show.
They’re introduced, and there are cheers, and Jiyong links his arm with Seungri’s and the cheers get louder, and he waggles his fingers at the audience as Seungri soaks it all in like a sponge.
They play a game where they have to guess how many people in he audience already bought their mini-album, or single, because they’re in Japan and everything’s got different names, and then they have to reveal the top three foods they like to eat in Japan.
Seungri is pretty much in charge, as usual, because Jiyong’s not at all confident with his Japanese, and he hates relying on the interpreter. He’d rather just watch Seungri, anyway, practically dancing on his stool as he animatedly converses with the host.
“How does it feel, working alone, without the rest of the group?” the interviewer asks, and Seungri translates for Jiyong. Jiyong smiles at Seungri, and then at the interviewer.
“It’s so much fun,” Jiyong says, and this time, Jiyong’s interpreter translates. “Seungri works so hard, and you can probably tell he is a really entertaining guy.”
“Absolutely,” the interviewer says, and then Seungri is talking too fast for Jiyong to keep up, gesturing with his hands and flushing excitedly, shifting from side to side and occasionally hitting Jiyong with his elbow, to Jiyong’s amusement.
“He’s talking about how much he admires you,” the interpreter whispers into Jiyong’s ear, and Jiyong watches Seungri more closely, noticing now the way Seungri keeps cutting eyes at Jiyong, almost like he’d be embarrassed if he thought Jiyong knew what he was saying.
Whatever else he’s doing, the audience loves it, and Seungri adores the attention, laughing and talking even louder, and Jiyong’s so proud of him.
Seungri is so much better with people than Jiyong will ever be. For all his talents, Jiyong is eccentric, and he likes people, and he’s friendly, but he’s not really interested in getting to know most people on a personal level. He’s too closed off for that.
But Seungri is like an open book, and people just gravitate toward him, because he’s loud and funny and he shines, regardless of what else is happening, he’s there, all eyes on him. He likes that.
He thinks, sometimes, if Seungri hadn’t become a singer, he’d be doing something else where he could be surrounded with people all the time. Jiyong can’t imagine a Seungri who isn’t performing.
Jiyong feels special, mostly, that of all the people that move toward Seungri, into his orbit or charisma, it is Jiyong whose eyes he craves the most.
“You admire me?” Jiyong elbows him playfully backstage. “You say pretty things for the camera, maknae.”
“I really do,” Seungri says. “Admire you.”
“Even now?” Jiyong asks, and there are so many things he’s not saying, about the marijuana incident and the ‘Heartbreaker’ scandal, and the kiss, that stupid kiss that had somehow changed everything.
“Yeah,” Seungri says, and his face is unusually serious. He reaches out and cups Jiyong’s face in his hand, thumb resting at the edge of Jiyong’s lips. “Even now, hyung is still the person I admire most.”
Jiyong’s heart is racing like a rabbit, and Seungri’s lashes, dark with mascara, make him look mysterious. It’s too much—too serious, and Jiyong can’t…
Jiyong tugs Seungri’s hand from his face, and punches him lightly in the arm. “Don’t touch my face,” Jiyong says. “You’ll mess up my make-up.”
“Right,” Seungri says, and Jiyong ignores the shadow of hurt in Seungri’s eyes that he manages to catch before Seungri hides it with a wide grin. “I forgot that not everyone is naturally pretty, like me.”
“Asshole,” Jiyong says, and his stomach unclenches as they fall into a familiar pattern.
“You’re just mad because I’m the visuals,” Seungri says, and the moment passes.
Jiyong is a coward, but he’d rather be a coward and keep everything than be brave and lose it all.
#
The first time Jiyong gave up on Seungri, they were both impossibly young.
“Please stop liking me,” Seungri had said, and pulled away from Jiyong, flushing as girls whispered behind their hands at the intimate way Jiyong marked his claim, too close for public and too close for friends.
Jiyong had laughed, but really, he hadn’t thought it was funny. He didn’t know what the feelings meant, or why Seungri’s words cut so deep, but he remembers them. He remembers them when he’s twenty-four and standing on the balcony of their Japanese apartment, trying to make sense of the way his heart won’t let Seungri go.
#
“Let’s go out tonight,” Seungri says, as they climb out of the taxi. “I’m so pumped, for some reason!”
Jiyong’s not sure what that reason is, what with them having performed three times today, but that’s one of the fundamental differences between them. Jiyong feels his most powerful and strong when he’s allowed to be alone, or with people he’s not expected to entertain. He feels so rested when he’s writing music in the wee hours of the morning, breaking dawn streaming through the windows as his weary eyes scrawl out lyrics onto the pages of his notebook. Even though he’s tired, he feels charged.
Seungri is the opposite. Seungri soaks up the energy of others like it’s food, or like he’s a sunflower, blooming under their applause and praise and attention. Seungri is strongest when he’s pleasing others, and when others are admiring all he has to offer.
“I’m so tired,” Jiyong whines, but it’s not even half as protesting as it should be, because Seungri’ll win this time. Seungri will win because he’s asking, even though he has tons of friends in Japan and doesn’t need Jiyong, so Jiyong will go.
“Yay!” Seungri says, and he rubs his hands together excitedly. “My friend has passes to a more exclusive club tonight, so we won’t have to worry about the press, or anything like that. It’ll be great.”
“Fine,” Jiyong says, and he inwardly starts thinking about what he’ll wear, and how much coffee he should drink in preparation.
Jiyong winds up wearing black leather, and Seungri offers him a low whistle as they head out. “You look nice,” Seungri says. “I mean, like you’re looking for a date, or something.” Seungri’s eyes flicker to the side, and Jiyong thinks there’s a faint dusting of pink across his nose.
“I’m not,” Jiyong says. “Looking for a date.” Jiyong’s eyes take a moment to look up and down Seungri’s form, admiring the way his biceps pull at the sleeves of his shirt, and the way he’s boyishly handsome with no make-up at all. “You look nice too.”
“Ah,” Seungri says, and the pink gets a little darker. “Thanks.” He laughs, strangely shy or something, and Jiyong reaches out and brushes his thumb across Seungri’s eyebrow, pushing the hairs straight. He’s standing close, and Jiyong can smell his cologne. He’s radiating warmth, and Jiyong drops his hand to Seungri’s shoulder. There’s muscle there, and Jiyong likes the way it feels beneath his fingertips.
“Caterpillar brows,” Jiyong says, and Seungri’s breath catches, and he laughs and steps back, and Jiyong feels a little cooler in Seungri’s wake.
“Well, you know,” Seungri says. “I have to make it fair for the rest of you guys.” It’s a familiar joke, but Seungri’s voice cracks a bit, like he’s uncomfortable.
“I see,” Jiyong says dryly, and he shoves Seungri in the shoulder to break the strange mood. “Rascal.”
It works, and Seungri’s tension visibly unravels, and Jiyong is relieved. “Let’s go, let’s go.”
The club is dark, with strobe lights, just like any other night club that Seungri likes. The air smells like smoke, and cheap champagne, and it’s familiar, even if the language that everyone is speaking around him isn’t.
“Nice place,” Jiyong says, after they’ve cleared the bouncer, who scratches their name off the list and waves them inside.
“Yeah,” Seungri says, and he grabs Jiyong’s hand to lead him through the crowd. Jiyong’s rings clank against Seungri’s. “Straight to VIP.”
“Wearing rings, now?” Jiyong yells into Seungri’s ear over the sound of the music, and Seungri’s eyes flicker down to their clasped hands.
“I twist them, sometimes, when you’re not around,” he confesses. “I don’t know, it’s become a habit.”
Jiyong’s heart hurts.
“Oh,” Jiyong says, and the club’s noise drowns it out, and then they’re crossing into the VIP section. They’ve got a reserved table, with some of Seungri’s friends, and Jiyong recognizes a couple of them, but the others are a mystery. It’s no surprise. Seungri hoards friends now, because when he was younger, and fame came in an unexpected rush, Seungri’d had trouble keeping them. Jiyong wonders if he’d been enough, then, to keep Seungri from being lonely.
Seungri does a round of introductions, and Jiyong repeats the names under his breath. Seungri smiles and sits across from Jiyong in the booth.
“Japanese?” the man sitting next to him asks, and Jiyong shakes his head regretfully, knowing the word but unable to really confidently respond. “English?”
“Yes,” Jiyong says, and the man smiles.
“No Korean, sorry,” he says, and Jiyong shrugs easily.
“English is good,” Jiyong replies, and they get into a conversation about fashion, both of them speaking imperfectly, but well enough to understand. Jiyong’s having fun, and he’s relaxed, drinking glass after glass of something red and fizzy that Seungri’s picked.
It’s after an hour that Jiyong starts to get fidgety, and he sheds his leather jacket, because the alcohol is making him hot, and he’s got all this excess energy thrumming inside of himself that he’d thought he’d used up earlier, dancing on music shows.
Seungri looks up from the other side of the table and nods out to the dance floor. Jiyong raises an eyebrow, and Seungri stands and grabs Jiyong, pulling him up. “Excuse me,” Jiyong says, and the guy nods, and Jiyong finds himself back out in the sea of people.
He likes the music here, a thick hip-hop; it’s the kind of music Youngbae likes, a little gritty, and a little nasty. Seungri is already moving to the beat, and Jiyong’s almost too busy watching him to join. There’s space between them, but someone behind Jiyong bumps into him, shoving him closer, and then they’re dancing together.
Seungri looks surprised, at first, and then he’s moving again, and Jiyong can feel the line of Seungri’s body against his own, Seungri’s thigh between his own.
It’s sweat, and a beat, and Seungri’s eyes meet his own, and Jiyong might be imagining it, but there’s something bright and unreadable there, something that makes Jiyong feel a little like he’s on fire. “Hyung,” Seungri mouths, and Jiyong gravitates towards Seungri’s mouth.
Seungri’s eyes flutter closed, and Jiyong leans in, hands settling on either side of Seungri’s waist, the flesh hot beneath his palms. Seungri’s tongue flicks out and moistens his lips, and Jiyong’s eyes follow its path.
“Hyung,” Seungri says, and this time, Jiyong can hear him.
The song changes, and it’s like someone’s poured cold water on Jiyong. He takes a step back, and Seungri looks at him, dazed, looking a little like he doesn’t understand what’s just happened.
“Oh god,” Jiyong says, and he’s stepping further back, and then he’s spinning around, headed for the entrance of the club. He brushes past the bouncer and out into the street, walking past the people lined up at the door. He’s just got his tank-top on, and it’s chilly, the cool night air giving him goosebumps, and it wakes Jiyong up, leaving him feeling sober and disgusted with himself. “What am I doing?” he says aloud to himself, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, sticking one between his lips. He digs in his other pocket and finds his lighter, an expensive one with the GD&TOP logo on it that Seunghyun had given it for his birthday.
He lights the cigarette, and the first inhale calms him, at least enough that he can think around the haze of liquor. So stupid, he thinks, and it’s cold out here, and Jiyong wraps an arm around himself, fingers curling around his tattoo, black ink peeking through the space between his fingers.
Suddenly, a jacket is draped over his shoulders—his own jacket. “You left it inside,” Seungri says, and Jiyong’s heart is in his throat. “I thought you might be cold.”
Something in Seungri’s tone is begging for reassurance, and Jiyong doesn’t know what to do.
“Thank you,” Jiyong says.
“If you could… not do things like that,” Seungri says, “that would be better.”
Jiyong, looks up at Seungri, and he looks… scared, like he doesn’t know what Jiyong is going to do. What Jiyong is going to say. But, Jiyong notices, his hand is still on Jiyong’s shoulder, and he’s not standing three feet away like he should be. Like Jiyong expected him to be. “Like what,” Jiyong says, not really asking, because obviously-
“Like run out of parties without your coat. You’ll get sick.”
Jiyong laughs, because he doesn’t know how else to react. “Maknae, you don’t have your coat, either.”
“Didn’t bring one,” Seungri says, and Jiyong shrugs Seungri’s hand off his shoulder, and then slips the coat off too. He drapes it across Seungri’s broader ones, and Seungri looks at him in surprise. “What are you-“
“Let me,” Jiyong says. “Just. Let me.”
“Alright,” Seungri says, and Jiyong passes him the cigarette. Seungri takes it, but doesn’t smoke. Instead, he drops it, and puts it out. “We headed home?”
“No,” Jiyong says, and his blood is pounding in his ears. “We can go back in.” Jiyong crosses his arms, and Seungri frowns, and takes a deep breath.
“Hyung,” he says, and Jiyong wants to throw up. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Jiyong says. “Nothing happened.” Seungri rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, and Jiyong watches him swallow. The sheen of sweat on his face is evaporating in the cool evening air, and Jiyong admires the way the light outlines his profile. “Nothing.” It has to be nothing. Jiyong just keeps fucking up.
“It’s always nothing,” Seungri says, in a low voice, eyes on the asphalt. He looks back up at Jiyong, and smiles, but it’s empty, like those days when Seungri is just too tired to charm. “Let’s go back inside.”
Seungri leaves Jiyong at the table, and then he’s back out on the dance floor, grinding with some girl. She’s pretty, all thin limbs and long hair, and Seungri pulls her close, pressing into her with those hip moves he picked up when he was twenty that had changed his fans from cooing at his cuteness to wanting more shirtless photos.
Jiyong watches as his hands slide down her body, hands cupping her ass, shamelessly groping her, and she throws her head back, hair dangling behind her in permed waves. He’s throwing himself at her, Jiyong thinks, and it makes him want to break things.
And maybe Jiyong should have gone home after all.
He pulls his jacket on and leaves cash for the tab, weaving his way through the crowd with much more finesse.
Jiyong doesn’t own Seungri. It’s all a game, it has to be a game, because Jiyong can’t claim maknae like that. Seungri doesn’t belong to Jiyong like that, and Seungri can grind with girls in clubs and Jiyong has to deal with it. Jiyong has to get over it, because this is the way it has to be.
It’s better this way.
“At least you took your jacket, this time,” Seungri says, and Jiyong frowns.
“Shouldn’t you be with that girl? You looked really into her. Thought I might not see you until tomorrow.” Jiyong tries not to sound bitter, but he’s not sure he’s succeeded. “Why don’t you go fuck her, and leave me alone.”
Jiyong realizes he’s being ridiculous, but he feels strung out. Too much alcohol. Too much everything.
“Don’t snap,” Seungri says. “It’s me. It’s just me.”
“I know,” Jiyong says.
“Anyway, I’d rather spend time with you,” Seungri admits, and the jealousy that’s been bubbling in Jiyong’s belly fizzles to a stop, gone as quickly as it came as he turns to Seungri in disbelief.
“But why?” Jiyong says. “I’m… it’s not-“
“You were drunk, right? You are drunk.” Seungri scratches at his ear, careful to avoid the bar there. Jiyong keeps his eyes forward. “You only… You only do it when you have too much to drink.”
They don’t catch a cab. They walk. It’ll only take half an hour, and Jiyong things the air will clear out the fog in his head, make it easier to figure out why he keeps losing control.
“Sorry,” Jiyong says, halfway through the walk home. “About before. About snapping at you, too.”
“It’s okay,” Seungri says. “I like it.”
“Why?” Jiyong asks. “It doesn’t make sense for you to like it. It’s me, being careless. It’s me, being bad for you.”
“I like it when you only see me,” Seungri replies. “I like it when you want me to only see you.” And Jiyong tries not to read into that, but his heart, his stupid heart, beats far too fast, and Jiyong wonders if it’s so loud Seungri can hear it.
#
In 2009, things sort of come apart at the seams. Jiyong is overworked; he’s so tired that he can barely see straight, and he’s writing group songs while promoting his solo album. He’s on his last leg, but he never falters, smiling and putting on a good show no matter what happens.
But then there’s controversy. Then there’s people wondering if Jiyong’s baby, his song, is plagiarized, and Jiyong thinks that this could be the straw that breaks his back.
‘Heartbreaker’, Jiyong thinks, isn’t anyone else’s song. It’s his song, his feelings, his melody and beat; for whatever it’s worth, it’s Jiyong’s, and the accusation that that song, that particular song, could be anyone else’s, hurts Jiyong in ways reading things about how much people hate him as a person on the internet never could.
Jiyong never talks about how much it hurts. He doesn’t say anything at all, and throws his shoulders back and keeps on performing, because it’s his, and he won’t let antis or critics take it away from him.
Still, somehow, Seungri knows. Jiyong thinks, sometimes, that Seungri is as obsessed with him as he is with Seungri, because Seungri knows when Jiyong is sad even when Jiyong tries to hide it. Seungri can read things in Jiyong’s face that not even Youngbae can, even though Youngbae has known him longer. But Jiyong guesses Youngbae never idolized him; never watched every move Jiyong made with sparkling eyes and a determined set to his brow.
Seungri finds Jiyong alone in the studio, toying with music on the computer, mixing sounds that sound cacophonous even to his own ears.
“No one sounds like you,” Seungri says. “For better or for worse, no one sounds like you.”
“You’re just saying that because it’s me,” Jiyong says, and he accidentally laces the words with the bitterness and fear he’s been bottling up for weeks and weeks. Seungri laughs, and brushes the blonde hair out of Jiyong’s face, fingers holding the hair on top of Jiyong’s head with a loose fist.
“No,” Seungri says. “And you can trust me, because it’s me.”
“What does that mean?” Jiyong asks, because Seungri sounds so sure, so firm and confident.
“It means that I wouldn’t pick just anyone to look up to,” Seungri says. “I’m too talented and attractive to pick someone ordinary to admire.”
“You’re right,” Jiyong says, and he laughs, this little wet laugh that’s almost hysterical. “I must be really something.”
“Yeah,” Seungri says, and his hand slips from Jiyong’s bangs backward, through the rest of his hair, pausing to tangle with the strands at the back of Jiyong’s neck. “I’m the visuals of the band, but you’re the talent.”
Jiyong looks up as Seungri, and he feels soft and fragile, but it’s Seungri, so it’s okay. It’s Seungri, who Jiyong loves more than anyone else, even if Seungri can never know just how much.
“You’re not just the visuals,” Jiyong says. “You’re the heart, too.”
Seungri is Jiyong’s heart, at least, and that counts for a lot.
#
NYONGTORI hits number two on the Oricon weekly chart, right behind some boy band from Japan’s hitmaking boy band factory, and Jiyong’s pleased.
He hears FIRST KISS everywhere he goes, and it’s so damn catchy. He hums it as he walks around the apartment, picking up Seungri’s clothes and stacking them on Seungri’s bed. Seungri just rolls his eyes, and picks up Jiyong’s accessories and leaves them in a pile on the coffee table.
They go on a live show to perform the lead-track, and Seungri performs his best yet. The thing about Japanese shows is that often, they perform in a vacuum. Without the cheers and screams, there’s nothing to get Seungri excited. But on a live show, with people screaming his name, Seungri is perfect, and Jiyong gets so excited watching him that he ups his own game. They are almost deafened by screams when Jiyong leans forward and pecks Seungri on the cheek, and the slight taste of Seungri’s sweat on Jiyong’s lips is as sweet as their song.
Afterwards, Jiyong feels playful, teasing Seungri as they walk back to the changing area.
“Excuse me,” a woman says, and Jiyong stops.
“Yes?” Jiyong answers, in tentative Japanese, and the way she’s looking at him… Oh, Jiyong thinks.
“I loved your performance,” she ventures in Korean, and now Jiyong recognizes her as one of the girls in a performing group that went on before them, and Jiyong shifts uncomfortably.
“Thank you,” he says, and he smiles a her, because it’s flattering, even if Jiyong isn’t interested.
“I was wondering-“ she starts to say, and Jiyong is trying to figure out how to politely get out of this, but then Seungri interrupts.
“I’m sorry,” Seungri says, in flawless Japanese, and he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But we’ve really got to go.” Jiyong finds himself pulled off, and he barely has time to wave before they’re in the changing room, and Seungri is angrily loosening his bowtie.
“Why are you angry?” Jiyong says, feeling a little peeved. “I should be angry. You were so rude.”
“She was hitting on you,” Seungri says, and there’s a husk to his voice that Jiyong shouldn’t find as attractive as he does.
“So?” Jiyong says. “Girls hit on you all the time.”
“Not famous girls who will cause scandals,” Seungri says shortly, and he’s pulling his shirt off, revealing his strong back to Jiyong’s eyes.
“You didn’t have to be so…”
“So it’s okay for you to be possessive, but not for me?” Seungri says, and Jiyong is glad they’re speaking in Korean, because the Japanese staff is staring at their raised voices.
Jiyong feels on the spot. “No,” Jiyong says, and he looks down at his hands. He’s wearing his performance rings, the big thick ones that feel the best when he turns them behind the knuckle, and he’s twisting them anxiously. “No it isn’t.”
Seungri’s angry motions slow, and he slumps down into a chair. “I’m… sorry.”
“Me too,” Jiyong says, and he carefully takes off his jacket, hanging it up on a hanger and unbuttoning his ruffled tuxedo blouse, keeping his eyes on his hands as he does. “It’s my fault.”
“No,” Seungri says. “It’s-“
“It’s none of my business,” Jiyong says. “It’s none of my business.”
“Hyung,” Seungri starts to say, and then he stops, and pulls on a sweatshirt. “Fine,” he says.
That night, for the first time in a long time, Seungri comes into Jiyong’s room. “Can I…”
“Yes,” Jiyong says, and pulls back the covers. Seungri’s feet are cold, and Jiyong hisses at the chill.
“Sorry,” Seungri says, and he hugs Jiyong too tight. His grip is hard enough to bruise, almost as if he’s afraid Jiyong is going to say no. But Jiyong is tired, and this, just this, is okay for now.
“It’s okay,” Jiyong says, and he runs his hand up Seungri’s back.
“I thought you might be lonely, without Tom and Laura,” Seungri says, and Jiyong chuckles.
“Maybe,” he says.
“I don’t want to give this up,” Seungri says, and Jiyong’s heart is so heavy.
“Me either,” he says, and Jiyong resigns himself to being this close, and yet so far away, until the end.
#
Jiyong’s had the same voicemail saved to his phone for years.
It’s Seungri, singing happy birthday to him, his own remix of ‘Dirty Cash’, sung in the Sseungka style that makes them all laugh. It sounds just as sweet, and makes Jiyong smile just as much, as it did onstage at the ‘Always’ showcase.
It goes on for minutes, because Seungri talks afterward, rambles on about how much Jiyong is special and important to him, and it takes up space on Jiyong’s phone, because he’s saved it to phone memory, and Jiyong keeps trying to delete it, but he can’t. Instead, every time he goes into his inbox, he replays it, and it cracks him up all over again, and leaves him feeling embarrassingly warm and slushy inside in a way he’d never admit to anyone else.
Once, he loses his phone, and doesn’t realize it until later, in the rehearsal room. “Have you seen my phone?” He asks Seunghyun, who looks at him like he’s lost his mind.
“Why do you look so panicked? Do you have sexts on it, or something?”
“No, I just… I really need to find it,” Jiyong says, and frustration makes his hands shake. “I just need to find it.”
“You’re about due for a different phone, anyway. You’ve had that one for years.” Seunghyun shrugs. “If there’s nothing sensitive on it, just buy a new one.”
“I don’t know where I left it,” Jiyong says, and Daesung sighs, and starts looking too, while Seunghyun looks at Jiyong incredulously.
“Seriously, it doesn’t even have a touch-screen,” Seunghyun says. “You’re a cutting-edge fashion icon living in the dark ages. We sell smart-phones. We have a contract. Can you even send a text with yours?”
“I don’t care,” Jiyong says, and now he’s throwing towels, and Daesung sighs again.
“What are we looking for?” Youngbae asks, walking into the room and dodging a towel that Jiyong’s carelessly thrown behind him in his frantic search. Seungri’s behind him.
“Jiyong’s telegraph machine,” Seunghyun says, legs crossed and resting casually on top of the table, and Jiyong glares, before resuming his search.
“Here it is,” Seungri says, and he pulls it out of his pocket. Jiyong walks over and snatches it from his hand, holding it in a too tight grip and looking at Seungri curiously. “You left it in the office, so I grabbed it. I was going to give it back to you when I walked in. I know you like it a lot, so…”
“Thank you,” Jiyong says, and he ruffles Seungri’s hair, and Seungri beams.
When they’re alone, and Jiyong is still staring at the phone, thumb stoking along the scratched up plastic flip-cover, biting his lip.
“Why’s it so important to you?” Seungri asks. “Your phone?”
“There’re some irreplaceable things on this phone,” Jiyong admits, and Seungri tilts his head curiously. Jiyong stops to consider, then flips his phone open and puts it on speaker. He plays the message, Seungri’s message, for them both, and it echoes in the empty room. He doesn’t look at Seungri, just listens to Seungri’s cheerful voice on the phone, cracking just a little with the remnants of his voice changing, and he smiles.
When it’s over, Jiyong closes the phone, and darts his eyes at Seungri. Seungri is crying. “What’s wrong?” Jiyong asks, and Seungri puts his hand on Jiyong’s knee, and leans his head on Jiyong’s shoulder so Jiyong can’t see his face.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Seungri says, trying to sound like he isn’t crying, and a little embarrassed. “It’s just…”
“Just what?” Jiyong asks, and he feels exposed, and open.
“Just that sometimes, it’s nice to know that you care about me, too. That it’s not all fanservice and games.”
“Maknae is my favorite,” Jiyong says, and he means it.
PART FOUR
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-04-01 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-01 03:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-01 11:30 pm (UTC)I have to tell you that I still really like this! You have totally nailed Seungri's (kinda narcissistic) appeal and Jiyong's inability to not push closer. Also, I didn't say this before, but I like how you make "being an artist" and "needing to be in control of himself" the central features of GD's personality. I like the other characters as well.
*reads on*
no subject
Date: 2012-04-02 12:36 am (UTC)<3
no subject
Date: 2012-04-02 03:42 pm (UTC)The thing I admire most about Seungri is that he manages to keep up a lot of friendships outside Big Bang, which is something the other members seem to have gradually lost the knack for (if they were ever good at it in the first place).
no subject
Date: 2012-04-02 02:38 pm (UTC)i really have to point out how much i loved jiyong and youngbae's relationship in here. they've been through everything together, and i feel as though if such a situation were to ever arise, jiyong would have his full support, despite what youngbae's beliefs maybe. the thought just puts a smile on my face. BROTP FOR LIFE <333
this comment needs to be flail-ierrrrrrr but i'm no good at typing on an iPod (autocorrected jiyong to kiting >.>), so i'll just leave it here and say i want a nyongtori mini album after daesung releases a solo album (YG what are you doing where is his solo album T______T
no subject
Date: 2012-04-02 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-03 04:08 am (UTC)I'm also INTENSELY picky with this pairing, because I love them SO MUCH, and lately I've just been itching at the edges to write them... SO GLAD to hear that the characterization worked for you; it's totally one of the things I spent a LOT of time on, because they're so... they're so perfect already, I don't know!! <3
BROTP for life INDEED. I totally second this-- I really do think that YB is such a giving and openhearted person, and I think moreso for the people he trusts. I don't think they have everything in common, but I think the affection between them is real.
As for the album, I heard (around, on CYWORLD, etc) that it's shelved for now until Daesung's scandal is more in the distant past. T__T
The page doesn't matter! Livejournal alerts me all the same <3
Thanks for giving it a shot, and commenting!
--Maia
no subject
Date: 2012-04-03 05:21 pm (UTC)ah, it's difficult with the more "established" pairings because they've got a set dynamic, and it's like...what can you do when everything has already been done? because i feel like fanfiction is all about exploration, but when the pairing is writing itself... with these two, they glance at each other and it's like SOULMATES. xD
aww, i've been stuck in happy fantastic baby land that i nearly forgot about the scandal. that would pose a problem, wouldn't it? >.< oh, well, i can be patient. (i am a NEWS fan. i am the epitome of patient.)
no subject
Date: 2012-04-03 10:59 pm (UTC)i totally agree about the established pairings but... i think what makes G-Ri interesting for me is that with all of GD and Seungri's issues, they'd never be able to just smoothly come together, no matter how much affection there is between them.
(omg a NewS fan T__T i feel for you so so so much)